


Covariance

by stevieraebarnes



Series: A Bird Chooses His Match [2]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Brief Tim Drake, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Jeffrey's bill comes due, M/M, Sequel, Valentine's Day, and brief returning guest character, jaydick-flashfic: anniversary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevieraebarnes/pseuds/stevieraebarnes
Summary: Stay as long as you like,he'd said. Jason didn't expect it to be so brief.In which we revisit old friends for their anniversary.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Series: A Bird Chooses His Match [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646845
Comments: 22
Kudos: 115
Collections: Jaydick Flash Fanwork Challenge





	Covariance

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [A Contrast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17784116)

**THEN**

His eyes open to the aggressive vibrations of his mobile phone. It’s close by, Dick knows that much, but it’s not on his person and he can’t recall where he placed it. He sits up on the bed that is not his only to pause and register the loss of warmth at his side. The source of warmth seems activated by Dick’s disturbance and rolls away from him, off the bed. The man doesn’t look back, his movements never halting until he is gone from the room, like a dog caught luxuriating where he’s not supposed to. Silent, guilty, gone. The flash of Dick’s phone recaptures his attention and on the display is a number he recognizes.

Wally tells him in a crackly voice how a mission they’ve been monitoring has gone sideways, one that Dick had helped with initially three months ago. It was time to deploy. Now.

Dick looks at the bedroom door, still open from when Jason walked through it, and then searches the rest of the room, phone still to his ear. The laptop has been cast to the side with its screen black, _Singin’ in the Rain_ no longer serenading them. He had fallen asleep in the comfort of a warm bed—of a warm Jason—and the bliss of just being. On the nightstand next to him a blue box sits quietly full of new, unconsidered implications that go beyond _just being._ They go beyond the flirting and the inside jokes that Dick supposed had been good enough to satisfy the chemistry between them. He realizes now that he needs time to reflect on this properly. 

“Give me a couple hours,” he says into the phone. But Wally’s voice carries over with regretful insistence.

“No can do, team leader. Shit hit the fan twenty minutes ago. We’re at DEFCON 1 and you’re needed ASAP.”

Dick enters decision mode and knows there’s no turning back now. He scoops up the box of elephant cufflinks — a gift to him and therefore his responsibility now — and pulls on his shoes. He finds his jacket on the floor at the end of the bed and slips it on as he exits the dark coziness of the bedroom to the less comfortable kitchen. Jason stands with his back against the countertop, nursing a glass of water with his arms loosely crossed against his chest. It’s a protective gesture for most but with Jason, Dick knows that he’s carefully stitching the undone armor back together.

“Time to go then?” Jason asks by the sink.

Dick nods. “Time to go. Titans call. Gotta finish something I started a while back ago.”

“Well. Glad to see you finish what you start. Even if there is a queue. And a lag.”

Dick narrows his eyes and cocks his head, his muscle fibers tensing for a fight, a shouting match. Some kind of vent for the pressure building between then. Dick instead wiggles loose a valve. He flexes his fingers against the desire to form tight fists and his shoulders slump.

“I don’t want to leave either. Don’t say things you know aren't true simply because you think you’re the only one upset.”

Jason puts the glass down and nods. “I know. But I can’t have any more loose endings. For once in my life, I just want to _know_ where I stand with you.”

Dick walks over to Jason, closing the distance between them and crowding him against the countertop so Jason knows he’s got Dick’s undivided attention. He wraps his arms around his neck and he feels the man reciprocate, feels Jason’s hands on his back pulling him closer.

“This is where I want to stand,” Dick says, “but lives are at stake.”

Jason sighs, a soft shudder of reluctant acceptance.

“Make sure you save them,” he says into Dick’s neck, then loosens his hold and leans away to signal the moment is over.

Dick takes a step back and gives a salute. “Will do.” He makes for the exit, to the mission, and to an abrupt shift in dynamics he needs to get his head ready for instead of the previously slow exploration of something soft and lingering. He hasn’t explored soft and lingering in a long time. It can wait a bit more.

Dick closes the door behind him and doesn’t see Jason again for a year.

  
  


**NOW**

Red Hood laughs into the dirt he’s been smashed into by some third rate villain who thinks he’s capitalized on beginner’s luck simply because he’s new in town.

“Is that seriously the best you can do?”

“I admire your enthusiasm, Mr. Hood! But clearly I have the upper hand in this situation! Now I will show you something exceptional!”

“Oh my god,” Jason grumbles. “He talks like a magician.”

The villain gives his cape a flourish — an action that makes Jason want to throw up or tear off the fabric to preserve the sanctity of the cape — then brandishes an impressive spear-like weapon, both ends capped with murderous looking jagged points. The villain begins to highlight the spear, waving it triumphantly with a look of amazed glee. _Can you believe what you’re seeing?_ the face seems to say. Jason can’t believe the guy didn’t pull it out of a black top hat along with a rabbit. But he can see the couplers along the handle despite the paint job to make the weapon look uniform and knows all the guy did was collapse and expand it.

The villain, Jason can’t remember what the man introduced himself as, starts motioning along the dual spear heads with a hand as if the Red Hood’s interested in buying it when Jason decides enough is enough. He pulls out a gun from his holster and shoots the guy in the chest with a rubber bullet. With any luck the guy’s sternum might be fractured.

“Boring conversation anyways,” he says.

Tim’s voice assaults his ear before he can enjoy the silence.

“You’ve mixed up your franchises, guttersnipe.”

“Don’t pigeonhole Harrison Ford, dumbass.” Jason crouches beside the villain who’s in too much pain to even writhe on the ground. He’s clutching a fist to his breast bone in hopes the pressure will dispel the pain. Tough luck, bad guy.

“You- you shot me,” the man grits out. “Very,” he pauses to gasp. It’s a bit melodramatic for Jason’s taste, and he's well-versed in drama. “Very uncouth,” he finally manages.

“You’re just pissy cause you thought you were hot shit and instead you got yourself a beat down by a...why I do believe I’m known as a guttersnipe amongst some.”

“It’s true,” Tim says for Jason’s benefit only.

Jason pulls out cording from his utility belt and, without an ounce of sympathy, rolls the to-be prostrated man onto his stomach with the toe of his boot.

Tim interrupts Jason’s restraining session. “GCPD’s three blocks away.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can hear the sirens.”

“No you can’t.”

Jason finishes tying the guy’s ankles and wrists together with a hitch and a bend, then hears a distant wail. 

“See? Sirens.”

“Fine. If you’re all wrapped up here, I’ve got my own stuff to do. Red Robin out.”

“Pax, Double R.” Jason stands up, satisfied with a job well done, then slips down an alley that leads to another downtown Gotham artery before the blue cuff him along with The Tied Up Wonder back there. _Heh. Sounds like a Dick Grayson nickname,_ Jason can’t help but think and then chastises himself. Last he heard, Dickie was only tied up in Titans business, a wrap so tight the Boy Wonder had all but applied for a visa to the country he’d been patrolling in. 

Or so he had thought until now.

A discarded rag of newspaper lays mottled in the street, halfway down the city storm drain. But even with the trash, the muddy footprints, and the suspicious wetness splattering the pages—none of those can hide the beaming face of the town’s prince smudged in grayscale across the top fold, returning home where gossip has missed him:

_RICHARD GRAYSON RETURNS TO GOTHAM—WHERE HAS HE BEEN?_

  
  


**YESTERDAY**

“Your suit, Master Dick. Freshly pressed as requested.”

“Thanks, Alfred.” Dick grabs the garment bag and unzips at the top, peering in to make sure it is indeed the suit he was thinking of. Alfred raises an eyebrow in chastisement. 

“Inspecting my work, young sir?”

Dick whips his head back up, horrified. “Oh, jeez, no, sorry. More like I can’t trust myself to pick out the right suit.”

“Master Dick, you do realize the Wayne Gala was seven months ago? We do not intend to host another for quite some time.” He holds Dick’s gaze in an attempt to wring out an answer for Dick’s unexpected landing on the Manor’s doorstep. Not unwanted, just unusual. “Did you lose track of time over there? Or perhaps caught in a time warp? Tell me, what year is it, young sir?”

Dick laughs. “No, Alf, I wasn’t caught in a time warp, though I gotta admit the mission did take longer than I thought...and _time is fleeting_.” He grins at the butler.

Alfred gives no look of satisfaction when he responds with, “but has _madness taken its toll_ , I wonder?”

“Don’t think so. Guess I still need to do the Time Warp again.”

“And will you be needing your suit for that purpose? Would you like to change here?”

“Nah, it’s for later. I’ve got to get this concoction out.”

“Hmm, the liquid mixture you made in the Cave. Good riddance.”

“Yes, exactly. After I deal with that, then I can wear the suit.”

“I can’t help but notice that you asked for the French cuff shirt.”

“Yeah. It’s not an accident.”

“If you say so. Then I look forward to your trademark illumination on the subject when I next see you.”

Dick throws his arms (and garment bag) around Alfred’s shoulders for a hug. “Thanks. See you later; _the void calls_.” Then he makes his way down the entrance hall and into the crisp sunlight of a clear February day. Alfred must linger at the front door because Dick hears from behind him a distinct “Good luck” and then a softer, “I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

 _Thanks, Alf, I think I will too._

**NOW**

He hadn’t lingered in the street, but he also couldn’t just shut out the words as he passed them by: Dick Grayson has been in town for two days after a whole year gone.

Two days. Two days and Jason hasn’t heard a peep from anyone about it. 

And they call themselves family.

According to Jason’s better and more reliable info source — the Gotham Gazette — Richard Grayson has been spotted patronizing local shops and expensive restaurants, only for mere moments and without any purchases, to the establishments’ dismay.

 _“Mr. Grayson asked about our Friday menu and seemed interested, if non-committal. We have every belief that we can offer something that he would find very satisfying,”_ someone was quoted. Jason found it fairly apt for his own experience with the man. Interested, but non-committal. Yep.

He sees too many couples meandering on the lamp-lit sidewalks, laughing and touching in the dark, and Jason decides to call it a night. He’s already taken out a street magician. He could go home early. He stands from his rooftop perch and thinks maybe it’s best he disappears too.

  
  
  


In the dark of his own apartment, Jason fishes into his pocket to pull out his phone. Again. It’s nearly mindless at this point, a reflexive habit since he first noticed the text message. The takeaway for Jason was that the message was from _him_ and it was brief. A set of coordinates. No explanation. No greeting. Just coordinates.

The bliss of arriving home after patrol had lasted all of twenty minutes. There was time to shower, sure, and time to pull on an old pair of sweats. And then there was time to check his phone for notifications, which had included _the text._

And now he has a decision to make. 

He knows what he’s going to do. He already pulled on his favorite pair of jeans and a soft long sleeved shirt. He’s not pulling on the armor again; if Dick needs that kind of help, he’s going to have to learn to communicate better. Jason pulls the phone from his pocket again and looks up the coordinates. Gotham suburbs. Huh. 

He grabs a jacket and goes back into the cold.

  
  


Dick Grayson stands under a streetlamp in a navy suit holding a phone and a metal canister when he hears him approach.

“Hmm, well this is...new. Are we now merging your Spyral identity with Richie, the Gotham socialite?” Jason looks around at the innocuous neighborhood. “Gotta say, the location doesn’t really scream either one of those personas.”

Dick just smiles. “I have something for you.”

“Uh, is it that stainless steel water bottle?”

Dick jerks the canteen away from them both with a loud, “No!” He can see the suspicion fall heavily on Jason's face.

“Well, sort of.” Dick looks further along the sidewalk to a patch of shrubbery. “Come on. Follow me.”

Dick leads Jason behind an overgrown bush. “Stay here, okay?”

“Uhhh…”

“See that house? With the porch light on?”

Jason nods, and Dick watches him take in the sight. The house is in desperate need of a paint job, not something he's ever cared about, but out here in middle class utopia it stands out. There’s an additional out of place eye sore in the form of an improvised table made out of bare plywood and cinder blocks, an ornamental piece for the dirt patch in front of the house. They both know exactly what kind of house this is and Dick's a bit disappointed the picture isn't complete with red plastic Solo cups littering the ground.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on a certain someone who moved out here with a bunch of roommates for college.”

“Okay.”

“So stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Dick leaves a bewildered Jason with the greenery. He dashes with silent care to the front door of the house he’d previously canvassed to make sure all was according to plan, avoiding obvious windows and security systems. He can’t help but laugh at what’s to come as he neatly places the powder-coated steel water bottle on the doorstep, a small note attached.

Then, he rings the doorbell and runs.

He bursts out laughing when he gets back to Jason hidden behind the bush, over his antics, over Jason’s face of confused disbelief.

“Are you _doorbell_ ditching??” Jason asks as Dick covers his mouth in an attempt to suppress any noise that would give him away.

He elbows Jay in the side and hisses, “Watch!”

The door opens to a gangly young man, framed by the doorway and illuminated by the house lights above and entryway lights behind.

“Oh. My. God,” Jason whispers.

Jeffrey, the asshole, immediately spots the water bottle on the ground and carefully picks it up. They see him open the flap on the note and read the words neatly printed.

“ _Time to switch to reusable,_ ” Jason mumbles along with the kid, reading his lips. “Are you for real?” he says to Dick.

The jerk kid purses his lips at the bewildering present, then starts to unscrew the lid as he makes his way back inside and closes the door—

“OH GOD, WHAT? EW! UGH!”

The water bottle is flung back outside and the front door slammed shut, but across the street Dick and Jason can still hear the shrieks and curses of the kid hit with a potent and horrific smell that is surely binding only to his skin, hair, and clothes just as Dick designed it. The outcries become more and more muffled and Dick suspects Jeffrey has jumped into the bathroom in an attempt to scrub it off. It will come off. Eventually, and with enough dish soap. But the moment is now over for the two observers and they are left in a quiet of their own. Dick turns slightly to look at Jason, to try to glean any clues as to what he thought about Dick’s project.

Finally, Jason breaks the silence.

“Did you just stink bomb that jackass?” he asks, and then he bursts out laughing.

“I did stink bomb that guy!” Dick says, laughing with him. “I was inspired by that time Dami thought he could tame that skunk lingering at the back of the Manor’s property.” Then he tugs on Jay’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s not linger at the crime scene.”

“Jesus, I can’t believe you did that.”

Dick leads Jason towards the edge of suburbia, where the lights and noise of the Gotham cityscape bleed into the sidewalks corralling manicured lawns. It is at these crossroads where Dick’s car is parked.

“I did it for you, actually,” Dick says.

Jason stops in his tracks and he halts Dick with him. “What? Why?”

“To celebrate. Because of what today is. Happy Valentine's Day, Jay. And happy one year anniversary to the start of…” Dick gestures to the space between them, “this."

"One whole year, huh? Well, we didn't accomplish much, did we?"

"Maybe not externally, but internally I thought about you—about us a lot. Wally even slapped me once during a mission due to all the, uh, internal activity."

Jason grins, then looks away like he’s embarrassed. Dick finds it endearing.

“Well, that was a fantastic Valentine’s Day gift. Full of nostalgia.”

“Exactly. Our generation is all about nostalgia I’m told.”

“So what now? You look dressed to the nines. Got other plans?”

“Well, I do have one other idea, but I’m hoping I’d be joined by a certain someone for dinner plans in about,” Dick cocks his elbow to look at his wrist, “say thirty minutes?”

“You’re not wearing a watch, Dick,” Jason says, but then he spots the glint on the cuff of sleeve revealed. A satin elephant cufflink decorates the fabric. And Dick can tell the moment Jason realizes that he dressed up for him.

“You’re wearing the cufflinks,” Jason says.

“I am.”

“They look good.”

“Thanks.”

“You look good.”

Dick’s smile grows on his face.

“I found a restaurant that will box up a big fancy dinner for us that we can pick up from the back. You interested?”

Dick watches Jason rock back and forth, just slightly, as he decides what to do with the opportunity presented to him. He's seen Jay wear all kinds of armor. He's seen him wrapped in excuses, victimhood, and martyrdom.

But Dick instead sees the Jason who earned the mantle of Robin; who leapt at any occasion, unafraid of the consequences, simply because it was something he wanted to do.

Jason steps forward, the closeness removing any ambiguity, and takes Dick's hand in his.

"More than interested, Dickie. It's about damn time, I think."

**Author's Note:**

> Dick and Alfred quote Timewarp from _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ to each other and Jason channels both Indiana Jones and Han Solo when dealing with the magician, for franchise references. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I meant to have this out on Valentine's Day but between the flu and other injuries, here we are.
> 
> And happy anniversary to the first flashfic fill!


End file.
